The Crown of a King
by Aeschylean
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and his faithful companion John Watson must solver an ancient mystery and the murders that follow it's modern awakening. Set in the original time, the turn of the Century.
1. Ginger

Note: I am a Sherlock Homes fan to the end, however, as all fan fiction goes, the Sherlock Homes you will read below, is my take of the man. Just thought you should know.  
  
Chapter One  
  
Ginger  
  
221b Baker St.  
  
5th of December 1900  
  
Mr. Sherlock Holmes who had a habit of disregarding time when it came to mornings, surprised me when I arose and ventured from my room for a spot of breakfast. This particular morning, not unlike any other in weather for this season, was morose and full of snow, thus I had expected him to of donned his usual dressing gown, however he was fully dressed and waiting calmly for me at the dining table.  
  
"Good Morning Watson!" he chimed cheerfully.  
  
"Good Morning Holmes." I replied, watching him suspiciously. "Are we expected somewhere urgent this early morning?"  
  
"Hm, quite." he nodded. "But first breakfast. Mrs. Hudson, if you please?" he called, stressing the word 'please' as if she was slow and feeble of mind.  
  
We ate in silence, not an unusual phenomenon, but to my credit I knew something was amiss. At precisely seven thirty, we departed Baker Street and rode in carriage to Great Russell Street. Holmes had eluded answering all my questions regarding our destination, but it all became clear to me, when I found myself staring at the entrance to the British Museum.  
  
"Really Holmes, I think it is about time you told me why we are venturing out this early in the morning. The Museum will not open for another hour or two." I pressed.  
  
"The British Museum had a recent acquisition of an Egyptian mummy. An old friend of mine is on the board of trustees and has agreed to allow me to view the mummy before anyone else." he said in an offhand way that made me suspect hey was hiding something.  
  
"The Pre-dynastic mummy?" I ventured.  
  
He glanced quickly at me out of the corner of his eye, "The very same." I wondered silently at his sudden interest in this mummy. "I know my actions are seeming erratic, but-"  
  
"When are you not erratic?" I mumbled.  
  
He chuckled and went on, "This mummy dates back to the Naqada II period somewhere between 4500 to 3100 BC. The curators at the Museum have delightfully named it 'Ginger'. I am merrily interested in a piece that was found with the said mummy."  
  
"Ah, Mr. Holmes." a short pudgy man, graying in years who wore thick glasses appeared from behind a large white sheet. "You're early, I apologize for the mess," he stammered looking around at what seemed to be, a highly organized and tidy room.  
  
"Tis nothing to worry yourself about Mr. Gregory, I would like to introduce you to my dear friend Dr. John Watson." he gestured towards me. Mr. Gregory did not produce his hand or really acknowledge my presence at all. Instead he busied himself by dusting non-existent dust from several worktables. "The mummy, Mr. Gregory, I do believe I was given permission to view it this morning." Holmes nudged. The short man looked up startled for a moment and the briskly nodded, mumbled is "profuse apologies" and then led us to a small room off to the left. There sitting delicately on a worktable was the definite remains of long since dead individual.  
  
The body was curled into a tight fetus position. The skin was dry and parched with a dark brownish color. Remarkably, where I had suspected to smell a strong scent of rot and decay, I instead was pleasantly surprise to find it had light smell of sand and sun to it. "We, ah, named him Ginger. Ah, because of his hair." the little man informed us, pointing the long strand of pale amber-colored hair. Holmes stood staring at the man expectantly, then he coughed politely, which was unusual for Mr. Holmes, then gestured for the man to leave.  
  
"He's a bit odd," I commented when Mr. Gregory had left the room.  
  
"Yes, I agree. I suspect he is stealing objects from the Museum." Holmes replied. When I asked him why, he merrily replied, "It's all elementary my dear Watson. He's agitated, highly agitated. Several times he tried, and with out much success I dare say, to distract our attentions from the white sheet. Underneath, I suspect, is his 'loot'" the rolled the last word off his tongue in a sing song way as he examined the body.  
  
"But is it not rash to say he is stealing from the Museum?" I asked bewildered.  
  
Holmes smiled softly while picking at the mummy's skin. "No, quite the contrary, several objects have been disappearing from this museum for years and most in the antiquities department."  
  
"Why if that were true it would surely be in the post. Where did you come across this information Holmes?"  
  
"Gossip my dear Watson, gossip. Ah, here we are." suddenly from beneath the mummy's skin which covered the area where the skull meets the spine, Holmes pulled out a magnificent object of dark jade. Upon my look of bewilderment, mingled with disgust I'm sure, Holmes elaborated, "A fortnight ago Mr. Roger Cunningham, my friend of the board of trustees, came to me to solve a mystery. Several of the Museums oldest members and curators have been found dead. Their deaths were similar. All deaths were unexplained. There were no sign of a use of a weapon or poison."  
  
"Why do they suspect murder?" I interrupted.  
  
"I was getting there," he replied tartly. "There were markings however that suggested murder. Two puncture wounds here above the bridge of the nose." he gestured to his forehead. "There was also objects, similar to this one, found with each victim. However, they were of different colors. But all were undoubtedly snakes, like this one," he handed me the small jade idol. Indeed it was a snake, a finally carved one with small ruby eyes. "Their colors were; blue, yellow, gold, silver and black."  
  
"Besides these little-um-snakes here, how does the mummy come into all of this?" I asked.  
  
"I'm not quite sure yet. However, all of the deceased had had some contact with this mummy." he took back the jade snake and put it in his jacket pocket.  
  
"Holmes!" I cried at his apparent thievery.  
  
"Really Watson, do you believe me a thief? I have strict orders from Cunningham and Lestrade to guard this precocious object until further notice. It's all in writing so you really mustn't worry." he shrugged. "Lestrade is expecting us, so I believe we should leave." As we exited the small room where the mummy was being housed, I realized, Mr. Gregory was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if he had over heard our earlier conversation and whether or not we would be seeing him any time in the near future. 


	2. Mr Henry B Penport

Chapter Two  
Mr. Henry B. Penport  
  
Inspector Lestrade was not in his office when Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself had arrived at Scotland Yard precisely an hour after leaving the British Museum. Holmes again surprised me by dutifully sitting down in one of the large armchairs facing Lestrade's desk to wait. I myself remained standing.  
  
I watched Holmes out of the corner of my eye, keenly aware that something was amiss. Never before had I witnessed such behavior by my long time friend and companion. Holmes was rude to a point of madness, blunter than a drunken sailor and rarely in the mood to ever sit down in Lestrade's office to wait for him. Silently I pretended to study the photos and post clippings that covered the wall.  
  
One clipping caught my eye in particular. The title read, "Dr. Henry Penport Missing". His name was familiar. I remember reading an article about how the very same Pre-dynastic mummy Holmes and I had viewed this morning, in which Dr. Henry Penport had been credited with finding the said mummy.  
  
"Holmes," I said, gingerly pulling the clipping from the wall, "you should really take a look at this. The man in questions is the one who found your mummy." He took the paper from my hands and began to read aloud:  
  
"Dr. Henry G. Penport, head antiquities curator for the British  
museum, went missing a fortnight ago. He was last scene by colleagues  
at the Museum, when he arrived to celebrate the acquisition of an  
ancient Sumerian sculpture. Fowl play has not been ruled out, however,  
sources say that there have been recent thefts at the Museum and Dr.  
Penport's disappearance is highly suspicious."  
  
"Interesting," Holmes said quietly, "However, I do not believe Dr. Penport a thief. The man is highly dedicated to protecting the antiquities acquired by the Museum, from being owned by private collectors."  
  
"How can you be so sure?" I asked.  
  
"I met the man in question several years ago. At the time I was working on a minor case involving a stolen nine thousand year old statue of a Buddha. I have always prided myself on my judge of character." Holmes replied while placing the clipping back to its original place on the wall.  
  
"Mr. Holmes!" Inspector Lestrade suddenly appeared in the doorway of his office. He shook Holmes hand and then took mine. I noticed Lestrade was unusually un-kept. "I apologize for my tardiness, " he said looking at his pocket watch, "We have had a bit of difficulty down stairs."  
  
"Nothing to worry about," I assured him, "We've not been waiting long." Holmes said nothing.  
  
"Dr. Watson could you please shut the door?" Holmes asked tartly. I nodded and shut the door. Immediately afterwards, Holmes reached into his jacket pocket and produced the jade snake. "I found this," handing the snake to Lestrade, "this morning in the mummy that was recently acquired by the British Museum."  
  
"Amazing! It's just like the other five." Lestrade cried, turning the jade snake over and over in his hands, "However, this only complicates matters." he looked up expectedly at Holmes.  
  
"My knowledge of the Egyptian culture is somewhat lacking. I however have deduced that the object you hold in your hand, was a charm, probably associated with one of the many snake Gods of that period." Holmes said matter-oh-factly.  
  
"Hm," Lestrade handed the jade snake back over to Holmes who subsequently put it back in his jacket pocket. "I presume you will be seeing Cunningham about this?"  
  
"Of course," Holmes shrugged, "To other matters though, I would like to see the most recent victim if I might?" I groaned inwardly. I had seen much over my years with Holmes, and even more on the battlefields in my youth. Death was nothing knew to me, nor were the remains of individuals. However, I did not look forwards to such occasions to where I would be face to face with Death. "Come Watson, we do not have much time." As always, I followed dutifully.  
  
Mr. David P. Parkinson was the most recent death that was associated with the mummy. He was young, which surprised me for I believed all curators to be wizened old men, such as my self, but I was also saddened by his death. His youth was now lost, he would not have the pleasure and daunting experience of growing old.  
  
Holmes had not been exaggerating when he mentioned the two puncture wounds above the bridge of the nose, that had accompanied all of the victims. Indeed there were two small holes, precisely an inch apart from one anther, on the young mans forehead. Holmes began examining the body.  
  
"Quite a puzzler, if I do say so myself," Dr. Henry Connors, a short and plump gentleman, commented. "I've had a devil of time trying to figure out what killed him."  
  
"Heart failure maybe?" I suggested, though there were none of the outwardly physical signs that accompanied strokes.  
  
"Not that I could find." he replied thoughtfully, "All of Mr. Parkinson's organs were intact. There were no blood clots or hemorrhages. He didn't drown, suffocate, nor was there anything that might suggest poison."  
  
"What about these two puncture wounds?" Holmes questioned.  
  
"Those to are a mystery." Connors produced a toothpick with several dark markings on it, "Each hole is about an inch, inch and a half deep. I have seen wounds similar to this one, but never on the head before."  
  
"Snake bites." I said quietly. Connors nodded. I remember my days in India and one chance meeting my regiment and I had had with a King Cobra. One of the men had been bitten. His skin around the wound had quickly turned purple and he complained that it "stung something fierce". One of our native guides had tried to suck the poison out from the young man's leg. However he had failed and it killed the gentleman. "Mr. Parkinson, to receive such a bite, would of had to be face to face with the snake. However, there is no sign of swelling or agitation, which you would find if he had been bitten by a snake."  
  
"I would have deduced that myself, had he been the only individual with those specific puncture marks exactly above the bridge of his nose. However, he is not, which leads us to a quandary. What could of caused such wounds and why there?" Holmes said thoughtfully.  
  
"A two pronged murder weapon perhaps?" Dr. Connors speculated.  
  
"No. If such a weapon were used, it would have had to have been thrust through the skin. In that scenario, the weapon would have punctured the skull most likely, but it didn't. There is also no sign of forced entry into the skin, as there would be otherwise." Holmes remarked.  
  
My curiosity was pricked. I moved next to Holmes and peered down at the wounds. Several inches above the wound, was a long thing indent in the skin. It reminded me of the line left behind when a hat that had been worn for some time was finally taken off. "A hat or head piece maybe?" I ventured. Holmes nodded.  
  
"I believe so. There is a slight indentation just several millimeters above the wounds. It is a thin line that circles the width of the forehead, much like a hat would leave upon the wearer." Holmes pointed to the almost invisible line. "However I can not be sure until I have examine the other four bodies." Holmes looked up at Connors.  
  
"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, but that will be quite impossible. Three of the five in question have been buried by their families, while the fourth has been cremated at the request of his Last Will and Testament. " Connors informed us. Holmes did not look pleased.  
  
After a long pause, Holmes asked, "Were pictures by any chance taken? Or sketches draw of the crime scene?"  
  
"Of course Mr. Holmes." Connors replies.  
  
"I would very much like to see them then." Holmes said while washing his hands in one of the water basins. Then he donned his jacket and hat.  
  
While we strode to Lestrade's off, Holmes pulled out his pipe from a pocket, filled it and lit it. "Something is troubling me about this whole matter Holmes," I finally expressed as we walked down the long halls of Scotland Yard. "Is it not policy to keep the bodies of murder victim for a reasonable amount of time so that a proper investigation can be had, before releasing them to their respected families? The first murder was less then a fortnight ago!"  
  
"Quiet right Watson." Holmes replied, "There is something amiss, and I intend to find out what it is."  
  
Upon reaching Lestrade's office, we were surprised to find there had been another murder. Lestrade informed us that the deceased in question had been found at precisely ten o'clock in the very room Holmes and I had been in just this morning at the British Museum.  
  
Unceremoniously, Lestrade handed Holmes what looked to be a coroner's report. "He was found just like the other five. Everything's the same, however this time there was this," Lestrade produced a white snake that was almost identical to the jade one in Holmes's jacket pocket.  
  
"Interesting," Holmes mumbled quietly, then handed me the paper. My eyes were immediately drawn to the name of the deceased: Mr. Emit F. Gregory. 


	3. Tea at Noon

Chapter 3  
Tea at Noon  
  
"That poor man," I mumbled sometime later, when Holmes and I had returned to our apartments, "I am baffled though to how he fits into all of this. All the other previous victims, as you told me in Lestrade's office, were completely loyal to the British Museum. While Mr. Gregory was stealing compulsively from the institution for years."  
"I am coming to the conclusion Watson, that the murders have a deeper connection than with the Museum." Holmes replied quietly through the smoke from his pipe that was billowing up in front of his face.  
"But they worked for the Museum, correct?"  
"Yes and no," Holmes shifted in his arm chair. "Only two of the victims where Museum employees. Dr. Penport, who may or may not be dead, and a Ms. Tanya Rhinefield who worked in filing. The others where connected yes, but not employed by the Museum. Dr. Francis Remmington, Mrs. Helen Peabody and Mr. Allan George, were all volunteer members. Mr. Gregory and Mr. David Parkinson were researchers who had received permission for the Board of Trustees to study at the Museum."  
I nodded. "What where Mr. Gregory and Mr. Parkinson studying I wonder?" I asked.  
"Mr. Gregory was supposedly studying papers held by the Museum regarding an ancient Egyptian excavation. If I remember correctly, Parkinson had been researching Sumerian culture."  
I studied Holmes, "Did you know Mr. Parkinson, Holmes?" he said nothing at first, he merely reached into a back leather bag at his feet and pulled out the white linen cloth that held the idols.  
"It is nothing that concerns you," he retorted.  
Over the years, I have come to the realization that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is an enigma to me. I know very little regarding him, or his past. The few bits and pieces I have gleamed about his family and friends outside our friendship and acquaintance, are from minor slip-ups Holmes has made every now and then, and from other individuals such as Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade who have known Holmes for many more years than my self. I have also learned that it is a waste of time to ask, for he rarely elaborates further.  
Holmes laid out the idols in a straight, even line. Their ruby eyes all stared at me, I had the absurd feeling I was being watched. "What do you make of these?" I was startled from my reveries by Holmes asking me his usual question of deduction.  
I picked up the yellow snake. It really wasn't fare to call it yellow. In fact it has this distinct caramel color that swirls and glimmers like candied butterscotch. "Amber?" I asked. Holmes nodded. The blue snake I suspected was lapis or turquoise. The white idol looked to be pearl or ivory and the black one obsidian. "Well, they all look to be made of precious materials. Especially the silver and gold ones." I finally commented. They sparkled under the warm light of our lamps. "I do not believe though that they are old artifacts." Holmes raised an eye brow.  
"How so Watson?"  
"The are too polished. When we were leaving the Museum the other day, I stopped to admire a small jade figurine of a woman. It had a dull shine to it. The label next to it, read that the idol was at least nine hundred to one thousand years old." he nodded, I felt somehow, that this did not truly explain my thoughts, "When I was little, my grandmother died, leaving my mother her priceless and favorite ivory cameo. My mother showed it to me often. Even polished, the finish was faded. Mother said it was old and that the original polish had long since worn off. The ivory had also taken on a yellowed, aged color. This white snake here, which I suspect is ivory, or pearl at best, is still pure and pristine. " I looked up from the white snake I had picked up.  
"Quite right Watson. I agree they are newer carvings." Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson quickly appeared and answered the caller. A young red head man stood looking quite uncomfortable in the doorway.  
"Mr. Holmes?" he asked a little nervously. "I be Shamus O'Patrick. Dr. Connors asked me to be droppin' this by you on me way home." he pulled out a small glass vial that held a red, thick liquid that looked to be blood and a small piece of paper.  
Holmes took the vial from the boy, "Dr. Connors said for me to be tellin' you also that it be coming from one of the blokes who you've be studyin'."  
"Tell Dr. Connors I will be in touch with him soon on my findings." Holmes told Mr. O'Patrick curtly. The boy bowed his head slightly and left quickly.  
"What is that you have there?" I asked.  
Holmes read the label that had been placed around the vial, "A sample of the blood taken from beneath Mr. Gregory's wound it looks like." I suddenly felt quite nauseous.  
"Where you suspecting it?"  
"No, to tell you the truth." Holmes unfolded the small note, there was a pause as he read the contents. "Interesting," he held the vial up to the light. "It seems he has found something after all to implicate poison."  
"Really? What?" I asked startled.  
"I'm not sure, all he had written here is that it was a poison, but one he doesn't recognize." Holmes walked to his chemistry kit which sat completely neat and organized, which is quite unusual for Mr. Holmes, seeing how is often prone to untidiness, on a long, low pine table in the corner of the room. At that moment I knew that he would be preoccupied with this new little mystery, and so, I picked up my hat and informed Mrs. Hudson that I was going out. She asked me when she should expect me to return home. I replied I did not know, for really I didn't, but I assured her I would return before dinner. I had no idea where I was going to go or for how long. A stroll maybe, yes a stroll, I told her. She nodded and returned to where ever she had been prior. I had walked around London for nearly an hour when I decided to return to the Museum.  
The British Museum was quiet when I finally mounted her steps and stood with in her threshold. Oh their were people, scattered here and there, but they seemed to melt into the glass exhibit cases and wall diagrams describing this bit of information or object from this period or that region. Nothing seemed to really grab my attention.  
Suddenly I found my self staring down at 'Ginger'. Shards of pots had been laid around the mummy who lay in fine sand. I moved on. I was fascinated by many of the relics that where on display. One in particular caught my attention however.  
It was a pottery terracotta jar, beautiful crafted. It had been painted once, or so a little label informed me. I could barely make out the flaking red and black paint that was still clinging to it's surface. "Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?" I was startled suddenly by a distinguished looking gentleman who had snuck up from behind me. "Sorry about that," he chuckled. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Roger Cunningham." The name sounded awfully familiar.  
"Dr. John A. Watson." I countered.  
"Ah, I knew I recognized your! You're Holmes's friend." he smiled brightly. I was beginning to distrust this man.  
"And you are as well," I replied mildly. He nodded and patted me on the back while saying something like, aren't we all. Not in those exact words mind you, he had said it under his breath and toothy grin.  
"This vase is Sumerian. Quite beautiful isn't it." he had turned his attention to the pottery.  
"Yes." something began to tug at the back of my mind, "Is this the same Sumerian jar recently acquired by the Museum?" I asked. He nodded still smiling. "The same one that Dr. Penport was celebrating right before he disappeared?" I could of sworn the smile faded a fraction. 


End file.
